


it would eat you like poison if you knew what I knew

by fawnlike (amainiris)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 15:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21017894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amainiris/pseuds/fawnlike
Summary: There is a dark seed in both of them, deeper than whatever else lay inside, impossible to find, unable to be rooted out. Besides -- they don’t want it driven out, it’s embedded in their cores, and Abigail knows (sheknows) that before this, neither of them has ever loved at all.She knows they kill together, without her, and whenever she contemplates this the bitterness rises in her throat like bile. She knows they kill together because drinking and fucking isn’t enough to expel the shadow between them. Even the murder, she thinks, doesn’t begin to explain a fraction of it. They can’t fuck it out of each other, can’t bleed it out of each other, can’t purge or drink or numb it away. Hannibal, anyway, is too erudite for such crude gestures; but killing to him is a ballet, a symphony, and he teaches it to Will in a way that he’s never taught it to Abigail.And she can taste it every time they leave: jealousy, acidic enough to burn.





	it would eat you like poison if you knew what I knew

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Satellite Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20367835) by [lovetincture](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetincture/pseuds/lovetincture). 

> Loosely inspired by **lovetincture**’s ‘Satellite Mind’, which is honestly far better than this, and which you should definitely check out.
> 
> Any comments/suggestions are much appreciated -- they always make my day!

Abigail watches them too much. She knows this, but she can’t bring herself to stop, because she isn’t sure if she’s jealous of the kindness Will shows to Hannibal or of the compassion Hannibal offers to Will or of the fact that they are so consumed by one another that there is practically no room for anyone else in their world.

No, it’s definitely the last.

  
  


Maybe ‘watch’ is the wrong word. Perhaps ‘study’ would be more accurate. Will’s nervousness quelled when Hannibal lowers his head to murmur something in the younger man’s ear; the way Hannibal seems at the edge of a smile whenever he spots Will’s hapless pack of mutts; how when their fingers brush hers at dinner it’s really only because they’re paying attention to each other, and she’s nothing more than a pretty, innocuous guest at their meal for two.

_Family, family, family._

That’s what they told her.

But the more they say the word, the less it feels true.

  
  
  


One day she’s standing with Hannibal (elegant, as always) in his kitchen (elegant, as always) and he asks what’s troubling her and Abigail wants nothing more than to laugh.

“I want to see my father,” she says stupidly, obstinately. A child’s retort.

“I haven't left, Abigail.”

“I meant the one you and Will killed.”

  
  
  


It's not all bad, though; some days, in the sweetness of autumn, tumbled gold-and-rose, she flees to the fields of Wolf Trap, wraps her arms around the dogs’ necks and laughs when they lick her cheek, so full of unselfconscious love. There are dinners with the three of them, seated around Hannibal’s grand table, eating lamb and fish and (truly) God-only-knows what else, and Will asks her about her day, and the softness in his eyes, the _ care _, is gentle enough to hurt.

At least they’re not stupid, at least they’re not weak -- this is what she tells herself, because she loathes the frail, has little patience for ignorance.

But sometimes she wonders if a little love would make it all worth it.

  


There is a dark seed in both of them, deeper than whatever else lay inside, impossible to find, unable to be rooted out. Besides -- they don’t want it driven out, it’s embedded in their cores, and Abigail knows (she _ knows _) that before this, neither of them has ever loved at all.

She knows they kill together, without her, and whenever she contemplates this the bitterness rises in her throat like bile. She knows they kill together because drinking and fucking isn’t enough to expel the shadow between them. Even the murder, she thinks, doesn’t begin to explain a fraction of it. They can’t fuck it out of each other, can’t bleed it out of each other, can’t purge or drink or numb it away. Hannibal, anyway, is too erudite for such crude gestures; but killing to him is a ballet, a symphony, and he teaches it to Will in a way that he’s never taught it to Abigail.

And she can taste it every time they leave: jealousy, acidic enough to burn.

There are some people who, like tigers, long for a taste of blood. 

Abigail never would have guessed Hannibal would coax this hunger out of Will rather than herself; and this is what hurts, what resounds in her at night, as she hears the muffled sounds from their bedroom and pretends she’s with them. Skin on skin, mouths on flesh, tongues and fingers and cocks -- and her between them, aching, pleading for the pain she’s longed for ever since her mother’s death, since she saw Marissa helpless on those antlers in the dark.

Hurt me, hurt me, hurt me.

Sometimes she almost wants to beg Hannibal to do it, knowing that Will would never -- take her clothes off, beg (guessing, hopefully accurately, that he’d like it if she did so), plead. You can do whatever you want, she’d say, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t let you do.

And then the heat evaporates from her skin, leaves a dull ache between her legs: because he wouldn’t, he never would.

  
  
  


On other nights, she simply steals from Hannibal’s wine cellar, turns the television on low, sinks into a luxurious upholstered chair and drinks slowly. They will never love her enough, she knows, and neither did Garett Jacob Hobbs. Abigail has been loved plenty in her life, but always in all the wrong ways.

What Hannibal has seemed to have forgotten is that she is a hunter too, and deeply-ingrained are those instincts. When the time comes, she'll emerge, as deadly as either of them, and twice as patient. Watchful and still, she will wait. She will prove herself, she will rise, and Will's genuine kindnesses will no longer hurt.

And when that time comes, she won't need them anymore.

  



End file.
